Paperpushing It
by JoeMerl
Summary: A collection of unconnected one-shots and drabbles based on Iron Chef challenges and other prompts, ranging from the serious and deep to the dumb and unreadable. Newest story: Erin is on the hunt.
1. Out of His Head

**Author's Notes:** This is just a collection of drabbles and short stories based on prompts and Iron Chef challenges on the Paperpusher Message Board, but which are too short/dumb to publish as their own stories on this site. There's no real pattern or set genre to them, I'm just publishing them all together here. Hope you enjoy.

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><p><strong><strong><span>PromptIron Chef:**** Some lyrics from the Meat Loaf song "Where the Rubber Meets the Road." I broke the lyrics up into a set of four mini-fics that I'm publishing here as individual chapters.

_**Somewhere some girl is crazy**_  
><em><strong>And some boy is out of his head<strong>_

David Sorenson was driving calmly down the streets of Lawndale, the radio on low, his thoughts too distracted to hear it.

(Quinn Morgandorffer lay face-down on her bed, crying into her pillow.)

That had certainly been an awkward session, David thought wryly, turning down the street to his family's house. He wasn't used to girls asking him out, let alone having to turn them down. But he thought he had managed pretty well with Quinn. He had been blunt, but not cruel. That was the best approach to things like this.

(Quinn couldn't stand this. She had _never_ been rejected like this before—guys _always_ liked her, they _always_ jumped at the chance to take her somewhere or do anything for her. How could other girls stand this? No wonder Stacy was crying all the time, if being rejected felt _this_ bad.)

David really wasn't sure what to think about Quinn's crush on him, to be honest. It seemed odd, someone like _her_ admitting she had a crush on _him._ Of course, it didn't mean anything-she was just a high-school kid, after all, and apparently a pretty flighty one at that. She was bright, though—probably his most improved student ever. And he had actually enjoyed their tutoring sessions by the end, when she had really opened up and started to come into her own.

(What hurt Quinn even more, though, was how pointless the whole thing felt now. She had done all that studying, worked so hard to get smarter, and she really _felt_ smarter now, she felt, somehow, more challenged and yet more comfortable than she usually had...but David still thought that she was an idiot. Was this whole thing a waste of time? Was that how she was, too dumb to be a brain but too smart to be desirable now?)

Well, however improved Quinn was now, obviously dating her was out of the question, David thought, pulling into his parents' driveway. It never would have worked, what with their different priorities and ages. He had definitely done the right thing.

Not that that explained why this was bothering him so much.


	2. Fearless

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Some lyrics from the Meat Loaf song "Where the Rubber Meets the Road" (continued).

_**Somewhere someone is fearless**_  
><em><strong>And someone will end up dead<strong>_

"Oh, my word—Link! Link, come down from there, please!"

"_Go to hell!_"

"Uncle Timothy" winced down on the ground as the other campers crowded around, gazing up at the roof and muttering among themselves. Some of them looked afraid. Link wasn't scared, though. Probably because he was the only one who knew what was actually going on.

Link had sneaked up onto the roof on a careless whim. It was honestly intended as nothing more than a "screw you" to Mr. O'Neill and his stupid "stay inside where it's safe and boring and pointless" rules than anything else. But of course, when Mr. O'Neill found out he couldn't just do the _normal_ thing and drag him back down and yell at him—he had instantly decided that Link was suicidal. Link saw no reason to disavow him of that notion.

"Link, please—we can talk about this, okay?" Mr. O'Neill called, panic ruining his attempt to sound soothing. "Whatever problems you have, we can just discuss it calmly and—"

"I don't want to talk with you about anything!" Link snapped, leaning down lower over the edge and glaring down at him. "I'd rather jump than talk about anything with you, you—wh-_whoa!_"

Link had leaned a little too far, and suddenly he found gravity shoving him downward. He windmilled his arms wildly, trying to gain his balance, but his foot slipped and suddenly he pitched forward, head-first, eyes going wide behind his glasses as the ground came rushing forward.

Mr. O'Neill and most of the students screamed. It wasn't until Link felt his lungs burning halfway down that he realized that he was screaming too.

He was afraid again.


	3. Don't Care What's Correct

******Author's Notes:** ****Super short, super stupid.****  
><strong>**

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><p><strong><strong><strong><span>PromptIron Chef:****** Some lyrics from the Meat Loaf song "Where the Rubber Meets the Road" (cont.)

_**Somewhere two hearts are pounding**_  
><em><strong>And they don't care what's correct<strong>_

Both men were laughing like crazy as they landed in the bush, cupping hands over their mouths to muffle their giggles.

"Oh my _word!_ I can't believe we just did that!"

"HA! I haven't had so much _fun_ since I was in _college!"_

"Brings me right back to my fraternity days!" More insane giggling. "I still can't _believe_ you talked me into doing that!"

"Ah, no _problem,_ Timothy! I just hope _she_ doesn't get too _sore_ with you about it!"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure—"

"_HEY!_" Janet Barch's head shot out of her window, glaring around at the darkness. "You sexist pigs! _Come back with my underwear!_"

Mr. O'Neill gasped. "Quick, Anthony—_run!_"


	4. Without a Background Check

****Prompt/Iron Chef:** **Some lyrics from the Meat Loaf song "Where the Rubber Meets the Road" (continued).

_**Somewhere somebody's falling in love**_  
><em><strong>Without a background check...<strong>_

Val was sick of being like this.

It just wasn't working. She tried to stay cutting-edge, tried to make herself look young and pretty, tried to stay hip even as more and more birthdays passed her by, but it just wasn't _working,_ and finally the day came when she just couldn't take it anymore. It was like a mental breakdown—she canceled all her appointments, stopped going to work, stopped going out and threw away the contact information for both of the teen heartthrobs she had been thinking of dating next. _Val_ the magazine was being run and ghostwritten by her assistants; Val the person didn't have anyone to take care of _her._

Her sister convinced her to trade in her trendy Hollywood shrink for a more stuffy, boring psychologist that she worked with. It was painful, but to Val's own shock she started to feel...better after a while. It wasn't that the advice was pleasant-"just have fun" was being replaced by "what do you want out of life?," "how do you feel about that?," "where do you want to be in five years?"-but when she finally stopped fighting it she found out that she was...happier? Calmer? She wasn't quite sure, but she felt better, that was the point. She was finally forced to confront the truth-she was almost forty, and no matter how she dressed or acted wasn't going to change that fact. _And that was okay._

But she was an almost-forty-year-old woman without a guy or kids, and she was rapidly starting to realize that the job she had spent years building wasn't what she wanted, either. And _that_ wasn't okay.

She kept her work on hold, but slowly she started feeling confident enough that she could go out again. Not to the trendy nightclubs, not with an entourage of "friends" and assistants, but just out to a restaurant or a nice lounge. She sat at the bar in a nice outfit, not hot or sexy but _nice,_ sipping her drink calmly instead of chugging it like a kid on Spring Break. She felt content, if maybe a little wistful.

A man sat down next to her. He was about her age, though she still had to mentally remind herself of that fact.

"Hey," he said. "Haven't seen you around here before."

Val was slightly taken aback by that statement-it had been a long time since she'd ever been at a bar where people didn't know her. Didn't he read her magazine? Well, probably not, she reminded herself—people their age weren't _supposed_ to, were they?

"Well, I don't get out much these days," she said after a moment. "I'm Val—erie," she added quickly. Another thing that she had been thinking about lately was dropping that old nickname; it just didn't feel right anymore.

He gave her his name. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Valerie suddenly felt shy. "Alright," she said, as the man smiled at her and signaled to the bartender.


	5. Sphinx

******Prompt/Iron Chef:** ****Make a story about one of the "alter ego" images they show in the credits.

Daria's eyes widened. "I can't believe this."

"Yeah, I know. The head is too small."

"The head—Jane, this thing is as big as the real Sphinx! How did you manage to do this in just one semester?"

She shrugged. "Meh, I don't know. My professor didn't want any other art projects, just one big piece by final exam time. I opted to take him at his word. Plus I've been sublimating all my pent-up sexual frustration ever since Roger and I broke up."

"Well, I hope you get an A for this."

"Me too. As long as the professor's too awed to notice how small the head is." She paused, squinting. "Plus I think I made my lips too thin."

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> The image I chose (since the site messes up links, put in dots where necessary):

http:/www(DOT)outpost-daria(DOT)com/images/egos/jane_16(DOT)png


	6. Mane JoeMerl Back!

******Prompt/Iron Chef:****** Make up a story that somehow incorporates your Internet handle. I happen to have some coincidental canon on my side for this one.

Twelve-year-old Joey Black sat in the office, squinting hard at a piece of paper as he held his finger under a word. The counselor leaned over her desk, frowning, as Mr. and Mrs. Black gave each other nervous glanced.

"_'Muh...muuhh...'_"

"Um, actually, Joey, I—"

"No, no, I can do it! _'Muh-mmmmaaaannnne! Mane joh-eh-joh-eh—_"

"No, see, you don't—"

"_Joh-eh-merrrlll!_ Uh, _joemerl! Mane joemerl buh-back! Mane joemerl back!_" He looked up, grinning, then suddenly frowned, scratching his head. "Wait. What does that mean?"

"...It says 'Name: Joey Merton Black.' You were reading the wrong line."

Joey blinked, then slid down in his seat, face heating up. "Oh. Sorry."

"Not a problem. Mr. and Mrs. Black, I have to agree with Ms. Smith—Joey here _definitely_ has dyslexia."

"Oh, dear!"

"Don't worry, it's not too big an issue. But, we should probably talk about transferring him into Mrs. Gray's Reading class in the Special Ed Department..."


	7. Epistolary

********Prompt/Iron Chef:****** **Make an epistolary story (i.e., one told in letters, diary entries, etc.) 

**From:** DariaM  
><strong>To:<strong> ChainLink4  
><strong>Date:<strong> November 15, 2000  
><strong>Subject:<strong> RE: RE: stupid stuff

No, you can't read my story. Partially because it sucks, and partially because I don't want to be held responsible if it makes you turn into Mark David Chapman.

Well, if you thought I stunk as a camp counselor, you'll be real impressed with the depths I've been forced to sink to now. All the teachers are on strike, so I've been drafted to teach Mr. O'Neill's classes. I get to teach Quinn's class about "Romeo and Juliet." I'm tempted to switch it with "Titus Andronicus" just to see how they'll react.

Anyway, I hope things are okay with you. Are your mom and stepdad still fighting? And did you find time to finish "Animal Farm?"

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><p><strong>From:<strong> ChainLink4  
><strong>To:<strong> DariaM  
><strong>Date:<strong> November 16, 2000  
><strong>Subject:<strong> RE: RE: stupid stuff

seriously, theyre making you be a teacher? they can do that? but i bet youll be 10 times better then that idiot could ever be. is it true that romeo and juliet dye at the end? i bet he wouldnt even teach that. and whats that other play about?

things are okay here i guess. mom and bruce stopped fighting, which is sort of depressing because i actually thought she might divorce him this time. but i got my grade back on that math test and it was just high enough that ill get a c this trimester. i havnt finished animal farm yet, but i hope i can this weekend when i dont have as much stupid home work.

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><p><strong>From:<strong> DariaM  
><strong>To:<strong> ChainLink4  
><strong>Date:<strong> November 16, 2000  
><strong>Subject:<strong> RE: RE: stupid stuff

Congratulations on the math test. I knew you could do well if you really studied. You're officially doing better than most of MY students. I told everyone to read the first act for homework last night and of the three who did, not one seemed to understand what was going on.

I guess I should try to be fair; Shakespeare can be hard to read, but the book has footnotes and scene 1 is just a fight scene. At least some of them seemed interested when I stopped and helped explain everything to them.

Forget I mentioned anything about that other play; let's just say it's like "Animal Farm" without all the happy parts.

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><p><strong>From:<strong> ChainLink4  
><strong>To:<strong> DariaM  
><strong>Date:<strong> November 18, 2000  
><strong>Subject:<strong> RE: RE: stupid stuff

that sucks that all the other kids are stupid. just give them all an f, if they cant even read a stupid love story.

btw, i looked up tha titus thing. i didnt realize shakespeare was so messed up.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> I'm disappointed we never heard from Link after "Is It Fall Yet?" One day I want to expand this idea and have a whole fic of him and Daria corresponding. Hopefully I could make that more interesting than these pointless drabbles.


	8. It's a Unicorn

**********Prompt/Iron Chef:********** The challenger came up with all the dialogue; the challenge was to write a story around it.

The Morgendorffer family was spending the day at the Highland Zoo-rather unwillingly on five-year-old Daria's part, especially since she was forced to walk around holding Quinn's hand everywhere they went. At the moment neither Jake nor Helen was paying much attention to the animals, talking together about something a few steps away from the girls.

Quinn leaned over the railing around the newest exhibit. "What _is_ that?" she asked, in the same awed, annoying way she asked at every new animal pen.

Daria gazed indifferently into the large pit; a few rhinoceroses were grazing, looking as bored as she was.

"It's a unicorn," Daria drawled.

Quinn's eyes widened. She leaned farther forward, her eyes settling on the nearest one and its single large horn. "Never seen one up close before," she murmured. "Beautiful," she added, tilting her head and allowing her preconceived image of a unicorn to superimpose itself onto the beast before her.

Daria gave Quinn an odd look as she gazed dreamily into the rhino pen. Then, without warning, Quinn let go of Daria's hand and started to climb over the railing. Daria's eyes widened as Jake glanced over, then began screaming.

"_Get away, get away!_"

He tried to tackle Quinn, but ran forward so quickly that he tripped over his own feet, falling forward so that the railing hit him in the stomach as he grabbed her. The little girl began to struggle and yell as Jake cried out in pain, trying to restrain her. Helen ran forward to help him, shooting an angry look back at Daria as she did. Daria looked around guiltily.

"...I'm sorry," she said lamely.


	9. That Would Have to Be Enough

**********Prompt/Iron Chef:********** Another story based on an "alter ego."

It wasn't so bad, really.

...Okay, so it _was _really bad. But Quinn was trying to think positive! But it was hard, with everything that she had lost. Oh, how she missed her perfect skin! How smooth and soft it had been, pale pink and utterly flawless, almost never with a single pimple or blemish...she looked so different, now. But she could deal with it. She would have to, until the reanimation technology was perfected and she could _really _be alive again.

At least she still had her hair. Sure, you couldn't wear your old skin-at least not without looking really weird, skin suits still hadn't gotten past the serial killer stage of technology yet-but her original hair had been salvaged before she had decayed enough for it to become dry and icky. Locks of Love had a side organization for the reanimated, so now Quinn had a hairpiece made from her own original red locks. At least it still looked good. Why, on any normal girl you never could have even known that it came from a corpse!

One day, Quinn would look beautiful again, when she was alive or they made a working synthetic skin or _something _to help people like her. But until then, she had her hair. And that would have to be enough.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Based on this one (again, insert "dots" where instructed):

http:/www(DOT)dariawiki(DOT)org/wiki/index(DOT)php?title=File:QuinnSkeleton(DOT)jpg


	10. Memorable Weekend

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Jane and the Fashion Club are staying at Schloss Morgendorffer for the weekend, when a pregnancy test is found in the trash.

"Agh! My pregnancy test!" Daria, Helen, Quinn, Jane, Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany yelled in unison.

Jake and Tom's mouths fell open. The women looked at each other in shock. Only then did everybody notice several other tests poking out among the rubbish.

All in all, it was a very memorable weekend.


	11. Disney's Daria

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Write about a character's guilty pleasure.

"_Part of your wooorrrllld!_ Oh, I just love this movie!" Quinn sighed, clasping her hands together. "Sometimes I wish I could be like Ariel."

Daria stood behind the couch, watching over her sister's shoulder. "Hmm. Well, I'm not sure how you'd look in the seashell bra, but the not-talking-on-land thing I could definitely get behind."

"_Shhh!_ Go away if you're gonna be snippy, Daria! I don't want you ruining one of my favorite movies."

"_Favorite?_ This is the stupidest movie ever."

"Nah-_uh!_ What's stupid about it?"

"Well, let's see. Our main character falls in love with the first boy she ever sees, makes a stupid and sexist deal with a witch in order to marry him, and nearly gets herself, her father and her whole kingdom destroyed as a result. And yet, at the end, she gets what she wants anyway, without _any_ repercussions." Daria paused, quirking her eyebrow thoughtfully. "Actually, I guess I can see why you can relate to her."

Quinn crossed her arms and scoffed. "You know, Daria, sometimes I think you don't have any sense of wonder. I mean, if you can't see-just a second."

Quinn picked the ringing phone off of the seat beside to her. "Hello? Oh, hey, Sandi, what—bleaching crisis? Well, how bad is it? ...Oh no! That will look _terrible_ with her skin tone! I'll be right over!" Daria watched as Quinn jumped off the couch and sprinted for the door. "I gotta go—if I'm late for dinner, tell Mom and Dad that there was a Fashion Club emergency!"

She threw on her jacket and was gone in an instant. Daria watched her disappear and then turned back to the TV dispassionately. She turned to leave-then paused, looking back. She glanced around the room, then slowly slunk over to the VCR. Quinn's movie came out and, after rummaging around in the tape collection for a moment, Daria replaced it with another. She settled herself into Quinn's erstwhile seat as the video started.

A few minutes later Daria was leaning against the armrest, holding her head up with her hand, sighing over the music. "That's right, Belle. One day we'll _both_ find that Great, Wide Somewhere..."


	12. Last Man Standing

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** The Three J's have their final battle to decide who gets Quinn.

"Oh, guys, _please!_ Don't fight over me!" Quinn said, clasping her hands together with a smile on her face.

Upchuck looked quite amused at the proceedings. He was wearing a striped referee uniform as he strolled into the center of the circle of onlookers, waving his hands. "Quiet, lovely ladies and fellow gentlemen! There are no rules in this contest, save one: whichever man in this arena is the last one standing wins the right to accompany the lovely Miss Morgendorffer to her junior prom!" The crowd cheered as Upchuck motioned for quiet again. "The competitors may begin at the count of three." He held his whistle between his teeth. "One—"

The Three J's tensed up.

"Two—"

Jamie growled at the others as they all raised their hands.

"_Three!_" Upchuck blew the whistle, and the three leapt forward to attack!

_Slap slap slap!_ "Ow! Ooh!"

"Hey! You're hitting too hard!"

"_Agh!_"

Each boy was using one hand to slap at each of the others, while at the same time trying to deflect their blows with a slap of their own. The result was...less than impressive. Upchuck raised an eyebrow as Sandi scoffed and Quinn's shoulders sagged slightly.

After a moment, Jamie began to call out louder, pulling back from the fray. "_Agh!_ Wrist cramp! Guys, time—"

Joey and Jeffy spun around in unison to slap him in the face, making him stumble back and fall against the lockers. The two remaining contestants then turned to each other, tensing up again. Joey was the first to make a move, but Jeffy blocked his fist with his arm, then slammed his head into Joey's, sending him sprawling back.

"_Agh!_"

The onlookers gasped as Jeffy, looking slightly dazed himself, raised his arms. "_Yes!_ I did it! _Whoo-hoo!_"

"_Yaaay!_" several people cheered, as Quinn jumped up and down and clapped excitedly. Sandi scoffed. Stacy looked crestfallen, then reached into her purse to hand Tiffany a $10 bill.

Upchuck threw one arm around Jeffy's shoulder, drawing him close. "Congratulations, my good man, congratulations! You bested your challengers! Or at least...most of them."

"Ha-ha, I-huh?"

_POW!_

"_AGH!_"

The crowd gasped as Upchuck's knee slammed into Jeffy's crotch, and the larger student dropped to his knees, eyes watering in pain. He fell face-first on the tiles, moaning. Quinn's eyes widened as the other Fashion Club members' mouths fell open.

Upchuck turned to them. "I did say _whichever_ man was the last one standing," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Now...when shall I pick you up?"


	13. New Outfits

**********Prompt/Iron Chef:** ******** Make a story based on a picture.

"Okay, Marcello. Jane and I will meet you right after we pick up the kids from my sister. Love you too." Daria hung up her cell phone and turned to her best friend as they mounted the last few steps of the apartment complex. "Okay. Let's go see the damage."

"Oh, you're overreacting," Jane said, ringing the doorbell of Quinn's apartment. "Quinn's babysat before, right? I'm sure the girls haven't suffered _too much_ brain damage in just a couple of hours."

The door opened. Quinn stood on the threshold, beaming.

"Oh, great, you're here! Girls! Time to show off your new outfits!"

"_Yaaay!_"

One small girl ran into the room and hugged Jane around the legs. The other girl dragged herself in much more reluctantly. Both mothers' jaws dropped.

The girl hugging Jane looked up, smiling. "Aunt Quinn made us look pretty! Do I look pretty, Mommy?"

Jane could only sputter in horror. Daria turned to Quinn, who was still beaming.

"Never come near my child again. You monster."

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> The picture: thepaperpusher**.**net/forum/viewtopic**.**php?f=6&t=35843&start=0


	14. St Patrick's Day Valentine

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** "Crazy Pairing." Also, it was St. Patrick's Day.

Cupid wandered around the TV studio for almost an hour before he finally spotted his (for lack of a better word) friend, hiding behind some crates while the mortals were recording a commercial. His round face was set in an uncharacteristic scowl as he stalked over, crossing his arms and glaring.

"Hey man, what's your deal? I've been chasing you around town all day, and now you—"

"_Shhh!_" St. Patrick's Day hissed, motioning for him to crouch behind the boxes where he wouldn't be seen. "I'm tryin' to listen."

Cupid turned. "Listen to what...?"

"_Action!_"

Cupid's eyes turned to the set, where a young blonde woman in a green dress was standing against a sunny backdrop, surrounded by oversized shamrocks and little people dressed as leprechauns. She bent down to a faux tree stump and picked up a pitcher of some bubbly green liquid, posing with it as she smiled at the camera.

"Do you need a little luck of the Irish? Then this St. Patty's Day, try St. Peter's!" One of the leprechauns held out a glass; she bent forward, but accidentally stumbled and poured too much, causing the dwarf to jump back in surprise.

"_Cut!_"

"_Oops!_" The woman chuckled as the leprechaun put the glass down and shook off his hand. "Sorry!"

"No prob, A.A., no prob—_Bill!_ Refill the pitcher! And somebody move that chord she tripped on, c'mon, are you all _amateurs_ here?!"

"Aw," St. Patrick's Day said, a ridiculous little simper spreading across his face. "Ain't she a bonnie lass?"

Cupid raised an eyebrow, looking from his friend to the blonde model twenty feet away. "_Whoa._ You ran away from Holiday Island just to moon over some chick?" He chuckled. "You got it _bad,_ man."

St. Patrick's Day glared. "Put a cork in it," he snapped.

"Hey, man, it's cool! _You know I'm all about the **looooove,**_" Cupid said, suddenly switching to his deep baritone. Then he frowned. "But, uh...you're not thinking of, like..._defecting_ over her, are you? Because St. Patrick's Day is only a couple of weeks away, and-"

"Ah, don't worry about that," St. Patrick's Day said bitterly, turning back to the set as the director called for "Action!" once again. "She's already engaged to some..._ad executive_ or somethin'. She's retirin' in a couple o' months, right before the wedding." He rested his head on the crate sullenly, watching the fake leprechaun take a sip of beer and declare it "better than me pot o' gold!"

"I just wanted one last chance to see her up close. I look forward to her commercials ev'ry year, ya know."

"St. Peter Girl Beer! It'll cure what 'ales' you!" the blonde model said, posing once again.

"_Ahhh..._" St. Patrick's Day gave another lovestruck smile as Cupid rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.


	15. Her Heart Will Go Smart

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Write a story about the _Titanic._

Daria Morgendorffer leaned over the railing of the world-famous _Titanic _ocean liner, gazing out at the water and thinking about her situation.

The Morgendorffers were on this cruise as guests to the prestigious Sloane family, including their son, the young bachelor Thomas. Both sets of parents were pushing for a match between the two, which promised substantial rewards for the Morgendorffers' decreasing fortunes. Daria was...uneasy with this notion. Thomas seemed alright, she supposed, but she hardly liked the idea of other people being in such control of her future. She had tried to hint at this by sprinkling her conversation with sarcastic barbs and deadpan comments, but so far the Sloanes had only complimented her for her wit and sophistication, and Thomas seemed more interested in her than ever. Drat.

Daria wondered if she should outright refuse this union. Her father was of a mind to indulge her, but her mother had a louder voice in such matters and kept pushing the issue. But perhaps her sister Quinn might consign to be Thomas' wife, assuming his parents would not mind her complete _lack _of wit or sophistication?

She sighed. Well, the view was nice, at least. She leaned out farther over the railing to see better-but unfortunately, did so just as the ship seemed to hit a rough patch of water, causing it to lurch slightly. She let out a cry and almost slipped, only to feel somebody grab her by the back of her dress and pull her back onto the deck.

"Whoa! Careful there."

She turned around to see a tall, thin man with dark hair. He appeared to be a few years older than her. From his clothes he seemed to be one of the lower-class passengers; he looked quite rough and dirty—but, Daria thought vaguely, not entirely displeasing otherwise.

"Uh—thank you, kind sir," Daria murmured, embarrassed. She seemed to have a hard time meeting the stranger's gaze. "I just—ship rocked or...something."

"Yeah, it does that." The man had a slow, raspy voice with an American accent. "You okay?"

"'M fine," she muttered.

"Cool," he said, nodding. He gave a lazy smile that made Daria's heart speed up.

"I—would have been in a lot of trouble if I fell overboard," she said, a statement so obvious she wanted to smack herself in the face as soon as she heard it come out of her mouth. "Um...maybe there's some way I can repay you?"

The young man quirked an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Like what? How the hell was she supposed to know? She had never been taught the proper etiquette for these sorts of situations. Or cared that much about etiquette anyway. "I'm sure my father would be most happy to offer some kind of reward," she said, and immediately kicked herself again-introducing this handsome stranger to her _father?_ Really? "Perhaps I could—invite you to dinner with us in the first-class dining room tonight? Me, you...my family...and fiancé..." Oh _hell _could this be going any worse?

"Nah," her savior said. "I'm not really a fan of those _fancy _parties. Besides, I have practice with my band tonight."

"Oh—you are a musician?" Daria wasn't exactly an expert on music, but her education had given her a passing knowledge of the great artists—Mozart, Bach and so forth.

"Yeah." The main took a case from his back and revealed a guitar, a simple, rustic instrument that looked ill-made and worn. "Actually—maybe there is something you can do for me," he said thoughtfully.

"Um—yes?"

"Could you pose naked for us?"

"What?!"

"Yeah. Naked-chick songs are really popular in third class, and we kind of need some new inspiration. And my sister was looking for a new model for her paintings."

"Um..." Daria looked around. "I gotta go. I think I hear my fiancé calling me."

"Oh. Okay, cool," the man said, as Daria held up her skirt and ran off as quickly as she could.

When the ship sank a few days later Daria escaped in a lifeboat along with the rest of her family and the Sloanes, and she and Thomas were married shortly after their arrival in America. Her savior, Trent, slept through the whole disaster while clutching his guitar, which thankfully floated well enough for him to be picked up by a rescue vessel. There he met a new model for his music named Monique, with whom he was happily shacked up before the year was out.


	16. Magic Talking Sea Animals to the Rescue!

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Another _Titanic_ one. Some people were worried the last story killed off Jane. But if you've seen _The Legend of the Titanic_ (or the Nostalgia Critic's review thereof), you know that there's a far more optimistic take on this story!

Jane stopped her frantic search on the deck long enough to stare at the huge pink tentacle that had wrapped itself around the ship, holding the broken halves together as it sank into the water.

"Okay. And here I thought this trip couldn't get any weirder," she muttered.

"Jane!"

She turned to find one of the clothed, talking mice standing on her shoulder again. She put her hand to her face and groaned.

"You again. Okay, look—I've indulged this psychotic breakdown a _lot_ in the last couple of days, but I _really_ don't have time for this right now. The ship struck an iceberg, Trent is still missing, and it looks like Cthulu is about to eat us or something!"

"But your friends the dolphins are at the stern! They want to talk to you!"

She sighed. "Sure, why not? Maybe some _swimming_ delusions will at least be able to help."

She headed for the back of the ship. The dolphins were swimming right beside the sinking vessel, jumping far higher than seemed physically possible so that they could speak to her. "Don't be afraid of the octopus!" one of them squeaked. "Tentacles is a friend!"

"Yeah, great," Jane said distractedly. "Look, you know how this ship is supposed to be unsinkable? That's really not panning out. Do you think you can swim me to safety? Or...fly me?" she added, as one of the dolphins flapped its flippers and somehow hovered in the air for a good ten seconds or so.

"Don't worry, we've called the whales too! They'll be a great help!"

"The whales! The whales! Hooray!"

"Great. So they'll be enough to save everybody?"

"If the lifeboats can't hold enough people, we animals will take care of everything!" one of the dolphins assured.

"Alright, cool," Jane said, blowing a stray hair out of her face. "And here I thought this trip was going to end in _tragedy_ or something."


	17. College Bound

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Write a story about Doug, Susan or Ramona, the family seen at the beginning of "College Bored."

Seventeen-year-old Ramona sighed, checking her watch as she hurried into the library. She quickly recognized her target from the school newspaper: a short but stocky black freshman who was leaning back in his chair, tossing a football into the air and catching it with a bored look on his face.

She approached and put her binder down on the table next to him. "Evan Landon?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm Ramona Johnson, your new Math tutor."

"Uh-huh," he said again, not looking up from his football.

Ramona pursed her lips as she took the seat beside him. She noticed a folder open in front of him. "Are those your assignments?"

Evan gave a noncommittal grunt and pushed them in her direction. She adjusted her glasses and flipped through the pages—lots of angry red marks stood out. She pursed her lips again; this was going to be a tough one, she thought bitterly. "Okay. Well, these don't look good, but Mrs. Reyes told me that you could make up these points if you redo the assignments. So, where should we start?"

"Start wherever you want, as long as you get them back to me but the end of the trimester." He caught his ball one last time and glanced over at the clock, then rose to his feet. "I got football practice in ten minutes."

"Hey—_stop—_"

Evan started to head off until Ramona grabbed his wrist—he turned around as she gave him a penetrating glare. "I am _not_ doing your homework for you, if that's what you think! I have too much work of my own to pick up the slack for anyone else! And maybe if you cared about something other than football, you wouldn't be in this—what's so funny?"

Evan snickered. "'Care about football?' Are you nuts? Johnson, I don't give a _damn_ about football, anymore than you care about tutoring me or, I'm guessing, the Student Council or the Science Club. I'm only on the team for the same reason you do everything you do."

Ramona paused, her fingers falling from around Evan's wrist. "And why's that?"

"_Because my parents make me._ Because I can get into a good school just as easily as QB as I could by working my butt off like you and my sisters had to do. So here's your choice," he said, bending down to tap on the pile of failed Math projects. "You could try to actually teach me, which will add twice as much work to both of our overloaded schedules, or you could just do the work yourself in about an hour and accept the letter of recommendation that Mrs. Reyes is giving you for Crestmore or Bromwell or whatever. Got it?"

Ramona was too stunned to speak. Evan took that as a chance to turn around and walk out of the library, throwing and catching his football as he went.

Ramona sighed again and slumped down, letting her head bang against Evan's homework on the table.


	18. Ladies First

**Prompt/Iron**** Chef:** What if Daria and Jane met Elsie before meeting Tom?

"You're acting strange today, Tom; you rushed out of the house so early that I barely saw you. Not that I can blame you for opting out of our _fascinating_ breakfast conversation—"

"I kissed your girlfriend," Tom blurted out.

Elsie froze. "...What?"

"I kissed your girlfriend. I kissed Jane. I didn't mean to."

Elsie sputtered for a moment, then turned and ran down the hall in the opposite direction. About a half dozen Fielding students watched with shocked expressions.

"I'm sorry! I'm...sorry. Ugh, she's gonna tell Mom, isn't she?" Tom groaned.


	19. Four Witnesses

**Prompt/Iron**** Chef:** Lots of people pair DeMartino/Defoe. What's the story there?

Anthony groaned, putting his hand up to shield the sunlight from his face. The maneuver failed, forcing him into wakefulness and a few odd revelations.

His head _ached._

His mouth tasted like every kind of booze he had ever had mixed together.

This bed was a lot more comfortable than the one he was used to.

His arm was around another person.

This was the surprise that made his eyes to snap open. It took a minute for his vision to clear, then—

"_Agh!_"

"_Agh!_"

Claire Defoe let out a cry as she woke up, then screamed again as she noticed her colleague beside her in bed. The two immediately jumped apart, Claire drawing the bedsheet to her chest—she was, to her slight relief, fully dressed with the exception of her shoes. As Anthony hopped out of the bed she saw that he was still mostly clothed as well, though in a dirty undershirt and socks.

"_Agh!_ What **happened** last night?"

"I don't know. _Oh..._" Claire rubbed her head; she felt slightly dizzy. "Though I think I may have celebrated just a bit too much..."

Anthony scoffed. Personally, he had started _**"celebrating"**_ before the four of them even got to Vegas—by the end of the night he had been totally _plastered,_ though he felt justified given the circumstances. He glanced nervously at the messy bed, a bead of sweat suddenly running down his neck. "_Ahem._ We didn't—that is to _SAY_—you and I—"

Claire quickly averted her gaze. "I don't..._think_ so..."

A sudden knock made them both jump, and Anthony wince. "_Agh,_ my _**head...**_"

Claire got up and opened the door a crack; Timothy was standing there, holding a tray that was covered with the same plastic cereal bowls that the school cafeteria served for breakfast. He beamed.

"Ah, Claire! Glad to see you're finally awake. You slept right through the continental breakfast, so Janet and I were sure to grab you and Anthony something to eat. Is he awake?"

Timothy knew that Anthony was in here? Claire's head swam. "Um—yes." She took the tray. "Thank you?" she said uncertainly.

"You're welcome! And I just want to thank _you_ both again for doing this for me and Janet." He even more enraptured with joy than usual. "It just means so much to us to have our best friends here as witnesses." He suddenly gave a shrewd, un-Timothy-like grin. "But we didn't have any clue that we would get to return the favor right away like that!"

"Huh? What—"

Claire's eyes suddenly widened. Oh no. It was all coming back to her now. The ad hoc wedding reception—the crippling realization that she was still single when _Janet_ of all people had found a man—Anthony sobbing on her shoulder, the drunken suggestion that the four should go see that Elvis impersonator/ordained voodoo priest—

"Well, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone!" Timothy said, turning on his heel. "I hope you're enjoying your honeymoon as much as we are!" And he skipped away toward his room as Claire slowly turned back into hers.


	20. Slumber Party

**Prompt/Iron**** Chef:** Scenes That Should Not Be.

"As President of the Fashion Club, I declare that this meeting-slash-slumber party can official begin," Sandi said. "Now, what should we do first?"

"We could do each other's nails?" Stacy suggested.

"Or dye our haaaiiir."

Quinn tapped her chin thoughtfully, then snapped her fingers. "Hey, I know! Let's take off our clothes and have a pillow fight in our underwear!"

"While jumping on the beeeeed!" Tiffany added, her impassive face brightening.

"No, I know! Instead, let's all practice kissing each other!" Stacy suggested eagerly.

"Oh, yeah, that's a great idea!"

"Sounds like fuuunn."

Sandi frowned and crossed her arms. "Hmm, that all sounds like way too much fun for me. How about you girls do that while I go downstairs and read a stupid fashion magazine or something?"

"Okay, sure!"

"See you later!"

Sandi got up and left with her copy of _Waif._ The other girls turned to each other.

"Okay, let's get started!"

"Oh, boy! Hee-hee!"

Quinn, Tiffany and Stacy all giggled as they pulled their pajama tops off, jumping to their feet and tackling each other and-

"Hey, _brat!_ Are you, like, _listening_ at all?!"

"Huh?!"

Sam Griffin snapped out of his daze and looked around. He was startled to discover he was sitting on his own bed, with Chris beside him and Sandi glowering down at them both. He took just a second to collect himself before making a face.

"Yeah, yeah, your stupid friends are spending the night, stay out of your way, whatever!"

"You better, or I swear there'll be hell to pay, you little twerp!"

Sandi turned and stormed out of the room. The two brothers took another moment to grimace before exchanging a look.

"She still doesn't know about that hole in the bedroom wall, does she?"

"No."

"Heh-heh-heh..."


	21. Major-i-tay Mission

**Prompt/Iron**** Chef:** Scenes That Should Not Be.

_"Though if the town were gone today—"_

_"—and all the people blown away—"_

_"—we'd be in the major-i-tay! _  
><em>The big, wet rainstorm's overrrrr!"<em>

The two teenagers paused, shoulders slumping as they sat on Jodie's stoop. Then Mack slowly rose to his feet, pulling a gun out of his shoulder holster.

"Well, I guess we're gonna have to do it ourselves, then."

"I'll go get our ax from the backyard," Jodie said. She had an instinctual urge to go do some backup singing at Daria's house, and with any luck there would be a lot of honkies there too. Seemed like the perfect place for their mission to begin.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Seriously, their lyrics are basically wishing that the hurricane had genocided all the white people in town. WTF, guys?!

CharlesRB wrote a follow-up: thepaperpusher**.**net/forum/viewtopic**.**php?p=559222#p559222


	22. We Kissed Your Boyfriend

**Prompt/Iron**** Chef:** For a while, the "Scenes That Should Not Be" thread kept redoing the "Daria-tells-Jane-she-kissed-Tom" scene in the weirdest ways possible.

"Heh. Hey, Jane. We kissed your boyfriend."

"Yeah, heh-heh. We're gay."

"_You're_ gay!"

"Euh!"

The two strange, large-headed boys began to wail on each other as Jane turned to Daria, confused. "Do you know these guys?"

"_Ugh._"

* * *

><p>Jane was sitting on the couch with her sketchbook when the phone rang. She got up to answer it.<p>

"Lane residence, this is Jane speaking. ...Ugh. You mean like on the cheek, in a normal mother-son sort of way? Yeah, okay, that's not really relevant, Mrs. Sloane. Okay, then. Bye." She hung up. "_Criminy._"

* * *

><p>A heavyset girl with freckles approached the van. "Daria? Is that you?"<p>

"No, I'm a decoy to flush out assassins." She sighed. "Hi, Amelia."

"Thank _goodness!_ I was afraid you weren't coming, and then there would be no reason for _me _to come, because I wouldn't have anyone to talk to. What's new?"

"Hmm. Daria having a secret fan club is pretty new," Jane said.

"_Really._"

"You have a fan club? Cool!" Amelia said. Then she did a double-take, turning to Jane again. Her smile faltered.

"Jane, I...I kissed your boyfriend. I kissed Tom. I didn't mean to."

Jane's mouth dropped open. Her eye twitched. "I—I—_I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU!_ We're not even in the same STATE, I think, it's all kind of confusing if you think about it!"

"Jane, calm down—"

"NO! I will _not _calm down. IS THERE_ ANYONE ELSE _WHO'S SECRETLY MADE OUT WITH MY BOYFRIEND?!"

Glenn Eichler appeared out of the woods, timidly raising his hand.


	23. I Don't, Honest

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Imagine a world where nobody can lie.

"Wow, who's _that?_" Quinn wondered as a flashy red sports car drove up to the hotel.

Daria blinked. "_Aunt Amy?_"

The woman got out of the car, passing her keys to the valet. "I don't mind a few dents, but change the radio station and you're a dead man. ...Well, not really," she added as the young man slipped into the front seat, "but I like to say otherwise so I sound insouciant and witty."

He drove off. Amy turned and walked up the front steps, smirking slightly at her befuddled family.

"_Amy!_ How uncomfortable," Rita said as she stepped forward to greet her. "I thought you weren't coming."

"I wasn't," she said, motioning to Helen, "but I thought if you two could try to put aside years of bitterness and resentment, then I better show up to repeatedly open all the old wounds you're trying to close. Plus, making you shell out for an extra meal at the last minute is a great passive-aggressive strategy against you and Mom."

"_Oh, Amy!_ And you wonder why neither of us likes you," Helen said.

"I choose to ignore your presence as I continue to insult you." Amy turned to her brother-in-law. "So, Jake. You're still with Helen, huh?"

"Well, that's pretty obvious—"

"Shows remarkable fortitude inconsistent with the rest of your personality. Really, you didn't think I cared about an answer, did you?" She turned. "And _Roger._ How's the skydiving going?"

Helen stepped forward. "Amy, I have to interrupt your rudeness to point out that Roger passed away, which you would probably know if you took an interest in the life of anyone else in our family. This is Paul."

"Oh, sorry. Well...not really, because I didn't know Roger and the idea that his death might have been hard on Rita doesn't really faze me. Though I _am_ disappointed that I won't be able to use all those skydiving jokes I came up with on the way here." She shook Paul's hand. "Paul, how do you do?"

He looked around. "I'm not sure who Roger was, but all this talk about him makes me extremely uncomfortable."

"It's a family reunion. We're _all_ extremely uncomfortable," Daria said.

"True, though making everybody _else_ uncomfortable at least makes me feel better about it." Amy paused, giving Daria a look. "That was a nice, tactless quip. I know I never really bothered to keep in contact with you before—I honestly can't even remember your age—but I like the way you think, Daria. I think I'll enjoy poisoning you against your mother some time before the day is out. Well, I'm bored of talking to you people now."

She started to head into the hotel; Rita chased after her with Paul in tow. "Now, Amy, I don't know where we're going to seat you—"

"I don't really care, as long as doing so makes things more difficult for you on this already-hectic occasion."

"I'm off to get wasted before this disaster starts," Helen growled, stalking in after them.

"...I'm scared," Jake muttered as he followed.

The Morgendorffer sist ers watched them walk inside. "Wow, Aunt Amy's kind of a bitch," Quinn observed.

"...Yeah," Daria agreed, as rolling black storm clouds began to thunder behind them.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> I know this puts me in the minority, but I really hate Amy. Smarmy jackass.


	24. Underground Classrooms

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Write something about the Lawndale High basement.

"Class," Ms. Barch said, "we have a new student today—Daria Morgendorffer." She turned to her new pupil. "Now, you'll need a place to sit. Hmm..."

She scanned the rows of seats, finally pointing at the boy sitting next to Jodie. "[i]You![/i] You're being transferred to the underground classrooms!"

The boy let out an "_Aaaggghhh!_" as the floor suddenly opened up beneath him, and Daria calmly walked over to claim his empty chair. Meanwhile, Ms. Barch's finger traveled over to the kid sitting beside Kevin.

"And you! I'm just tired of you."

There was another cry of surprise as this boy vanished. As if on cue a kid in a pie cap strolled casually into the room to take the vacant seat.

Jodie raised her hand. "Ms. Barch, are there _really_ underground classes?"

She shrugged. "Sure. Whatever."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> People who follow me probably know where I got this joke from.


	25. A 'Step' Up

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** To build on a scenario Shiva came up with, where Tom is dating a girl who turns out to be Angier's daughter from an affair.

* * *

><p>"Mom! <em>Mom!<em>"

"What is it, Tom?" Kay asked, startled as her son stormed into the study.

Tom motioned accusingly out of the room. "Dad just said—he told me—"

"Told you what?"

"_Anne!_" he sputtered, throwing up his hands.

"That nice young girl you've been dating?" Kay put down her teacup and turned in her seat. "What about her?"

"Dad said—Dad said that's _he's_ her biological father"

Silence fell over the room as Kay's eyes widened slightly. Tom took a deep breath and dropped his arms, which suddenly felt as heavy as lead. "Did you know about this?" he asked quietly.

"No...no, I did not." Kay stared into space for a moment, then gave a soft smile, motioning for Tom to sit down. "But don't worry, Tom. It's not a problem."

"Not a problem?! Mom—I've been dating my own _sister!_"

"No, that's the thing," Kay said, patting her son on the knee. "Angier isn't your real father!"

Tom blinked, frozen for a long moment as that revelation sunk in.

"Well, that's a 'step' up, at least."


	26. Veronica's Makeover

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** New takes on the concept of Veronica, the fanonical third Morgendorffer sister.

_Ding-dong!_

Helen got up and opened the door to find a thirteen-year-old boy standing on the porch. He wore all black, with a skull on his shirt and long black bangs that covered one eye. He was carrying a collection of flowers that looked like they had been picked from his yard, and he immediately straightened as the door opened, a wide and slightly nervous grin on his face.

"Um, hel—hello," the boy said, his voice first squeaking and then coming out artificially deep. "I'm Damien Thorne—I'm here to pick up Veronica?"

"Oh, hello, Damien! Come in," Helen said, opening the door wider. "Veronica should be ready any minute—you just have a seat. _Quinn!_" she called, heading upstairs as Damien awkwardly sat down on the couch. "Is Veronica almost ready?"

"_I'm doing my best, Mom!_"

"_AGH!_"

Damien blinked. He stared at his hands in his lap for a moment, then looked up at the other occupant of the room, a teenage girl with reddish-brown hair and a green jacket. She was sitting on the chair with her face hidden in a book; she might not have been aware of anyone else's presence. Nevertheless she seemed to sense Damien's gaze and looked up, putting the book down in her lap.

"Hello. And who the hell might you be?" Despite her harsh phrasing she sounded more bored than vindictive. Damien smiled nervously.

"I'm Veronica's—er, date," he said, his pale face going slightly pink. "Damien Thorne."

"Thorne. By any chance do you know an Andrea?"

Damien's grin widened. "She's my sister!"

"...Are you sure?"

Damien frowned, confused. Then he jumped as another scream sounded from upstairs.

"_Dammit, Veronica!_ I can't help you unless you let me!" an unknown voice practically sobbed.

"I don't _want_ your help! _MOM!_"

"Our 'cousin' Quinn has been helping Veronica get ready," the girl in the green jacket explained, somehow managing to sound simultaneously bored and amused. "Their personal styles tend to clash a bit."

Someone was stomping above their heads, and Damien could hear some more yelling, including what sounded like Mrs. Morgendorffer joining the fray. There was another dramatic cry—this time from 'Quinn,' it seemed—and then some more stomping before Veronica appeared on the staircase. She was wearing a black dress with a black jacket and liberal amounts of black eyeliner, her dark hair in an artful tangle around her shoulders. Damien immediately jumped off the couch, going pink again.

"Hi Veronica!" He hoped she didn't hear the crack in his voice. "You look great!"

"Not for a lack of everybody else trying," she muttered, smoothing out her dress. She looked up and noticed the flowers in Damien's hand. "Are those for me?" she said, surprise displacing annoyance.

"Um—yeah!" Damien said; he seemed to have forgotten he was holding them.

"I'll put them in some water," Mrs. Morgendorrfer said, appearing on the steps behind her daughter. She took the small bouquet from Damien and glanced over at the clock. "Now, what exactly are your plans for the evening?"

Veronica scoffed, her breath puffing at her long bangs. "_Jeez,_ Mom, I told you—we're just going down to the old Dutch Orthodox Cemetery to make some grave rubbings."

"It's an extra credit assignment for History," Damien added quickly.

"Well, good! I like that you kids are taking some initiative with your extracurricular activities. I just wish we could get _Daria_ to try that."

"I could get involved in _this_ assignment. I'm sure Veronica and her friend would love having a _chaperon._"

"Don't you dare," Veronica growled. She turned to her mom. "We'll be home around 8:30."

"8."

"But you let _Quinn_—"

"_Quinn_ isn't thirteen years old, young lady!"

"Ugh—_fine!_ Whatever!" She suddenly grabbed Damien's wrist; startled, he followed as she marched out the front door and slammed it behind her.

Helen rolled her eyes as Quinn stormed down the stairs, theatrically throwing herself where Damien had been sitting. She shot a look at Daria's smirk. "This is _your_ fault, you know! The only reason Veronica is so difficult is because _you're_ such a bad influence!"

"Funny. I was about to tell _you_ the same thing."


	27. Like Goes With Like

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Random headcanon scenes. This is my theory of how Mack and Jodie first got together.

* * *

><p>"You mean Jodie Landon? From the tennis team? And...every other team in school?"<p>

"Yeah!" said Kevin, grinning his stupid grin. "Brit thinks she and I should set you two up. For like, a double date or something."

Mack quirked an eyebrow suspiciously. "Why?"

"I dunno. It's just one of those things chicks like to do."

"No, I mean, why with _Jodie,_ of all people?"

"Oh, um..." Kevin scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "I guess because you're both popular and stuff. And she's on the tennis team, so she's like, into sports too. Sporty chicks are cool. And because you're both b—well, _you know._"

"No, I don't," Mack said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Tell me."

Kevin looked sheepish, covering his mouth to keep from being overheard. "Because you're both _brains._"

Mack stared.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that!" Kevin added quickly. "I'm not, like, prejudicated or anything. You're one of the good ones, bro!"


	28. Random Pairing Challenge 2013

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** Last year I started a Valentine's Day challenge where people pick random numbers, which assigns them two characters to pair together. I subjected myself to this, only to take a year getting it down. ^^; Now I just have to write another one for _this_ year...

Link Rouillard slumped onto a stool, casting an angry look down onto the bar.

One of the Zon's heavily tattooed bartenders glided over, mashing his cigarette into an ashtray. "What'll I get you?"

"Your cheapest beer," Link muttered, half just to see if he could get away with it.

"I.D.?"

Link's scowl deepened. "Ultra-Cola."

Only when the bartender had set his drink down and wandered off did Link look up, glaring around the Zon's crowded interior. He honestly say why he was there now, except that it was a better alternative than going home. He didn't really like crowds, there was always a chance of stepping in puke here, and he really wasn't any sort of Goth or punk or whatever kind of morons usually hung out in this place.

The music was good, though. At the moment. Loud and pulsing, but somehow soothing—he already had angry adrenaline pounding in his body, but now it was dialing back to a less violent surge. He glanced up at the stage just as the song was ending.

"Thank you, Zon!" the lead singer said, earning a louder round of applause. "Alright, the Misery Chicks will be back for our second set in a bit. Rock on!"

The band disappeared into the crowd, and Link turned in his seat, taking his first sip of his drink. He had gone back to staring down at the bar, his expression more weary than angry, when the bartender returned and said "The usual?"

Link looked up and frowned in confusion—he only realized the question had been addressed to someone else when a familiar voice said "Thanks, Cade."

"Welcome, Monique."

Link looked at the woman sitting in the next stool and realized with slight surprise that he had just seen her on stage. She was very skinny and wore a collection of fashionably out-of-style clothes, with a large volume of messy dyed-black hair. Her face was still flushed from performing, and she was smiling as she took her first sip of her drink.

After a moment she glanced over at Link. "You need something?"

"Uh—" Link suddenly realized he had been staring and looked away, feeling his face burn. "No."

Another moment passed as Link glared pointedly away from the woman. She took another sip of her drink and eyed him curiously.

"You look bummed," she said suddenly, causing Link to jump and turn in his seat. "Is something bothering you?"

"What do you care?" The words came automatically, the same way they came to any teacher or counselor who ever bothered to ask.

"Whoa, _someone's_ defensive." She sounded more amused than put-out. She took another sip of her drink. "What's your name?"

"...Link."

"I'm Monique. So what's the matter, Link?" He didn't answer. "Come on. If you can't trust a random stranger in a bar, who _can_ you trust?"

Link stewed for a moment. The fact was, he could have talked a _lot_ about what was bothering him—the fight he'd had with his mother before storming out of the house, and the way she ignored him half the time before suddenly jumping on his case about everything—his jackass stepfather always butting into while his deadbeat _real_ father could barely be arsed to do anything—his idiot teachers, his pointless homework, and just about everyone he knew from school. Link was on the verge of ranting about all of it, but the words died on his tongue. He was sitting in a bar with a soda, talking to a woman probably about ten years older than him. Even _he_ realized there was no way to talk about any of that stuff without sounding like a whiny little kid.

As if reading his mind, she asked "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," Link said, once more without thinking.

"Hmm." Monique swirled her drink in her glass. "How old are you _really?_"

He scowled again. "Fifteen."

She smirked. "Well, take it from an old-timer like me—whatever's bugging you now? Probably not as big a deal as it feels like."

"Easy for you to say." Monique was starting to remind Link of his friend Daria. Except annoying. (Okay, Daria could be kind of annoying too, but that was different. Somehow.) He hadn't written to her in a while, mostly because their house had had its internet cut—yet another thing that pissed Link off right now.

Monique shrugged. "Whatever," she said, her tone still light. (_Maybe she's __not so much like Daria,_ Link thought.) She finished her drink and set the glass down on the bar. "Look, me and the girls have another set to do. Talk to you in about an hour?"

Link blinked, but Monique didn't give him a chance to answer—she was heading back to the stage already, leaving him to frown after her. He was reminded again of all those teachers and counselors—the way they annoyed the hell out of him, despite the secret feeling of relief he got just to talk to _anyone _about his problems. Why the hell she wanted to see him again was a mystery—Link hadn't even been planning to stick around for that long. It's not like he asked her to play psychotherapist for him.

The crowd cheered as Monique and her band started up again, with another song that somehow seemed calming even as Link unconsciously began to tap his fingers on the bar to its beat. He watched Monique singing, then turned away as she happened to look in his direction. He took another sip of his drink, then glanced up at her again.

It wasn't like he wanted to go home and fight some more with his mom, anyway, Link thought. He could stay until the end of the set.

He probably wouldn't tell Monique what was bothering him, though. He didn't want to sound like some whiny little kid.


	29. Cookies

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** A set of "Unexplainable Stock Photos" from Buzzfeed. This was one of the more _normal_ ones.

Helen readjusted her gas mask and glanced at her watch. Another two minutes and the cookies would be done.

Hmm, cookies. When was the last time she had baked cookies? Last Christmas, maybe? No, wait—it had been a few months back when Amy and Rita came over, and the three of them had finally buried the hatchet once and for all. Helen sighed wistfully. She hoped they were alright, somehow. She hoped her mother was alright, and Jake's mother and sister, and the Yeagers, and...

She shook her head; she couldn't let herself start thinking about all that right now. She had to focus on her own family and the rest of Lawndale. There was nothing to be done about anybody else. She would probably _never_ find out if there were others alive—it wasn't like she could take a quick jaunt up to the surface and check how Leeville was doing. As far as she was concerned, this strange community was the last human life left on Earth.

The whole situation still amazed her. Not just the sudden attacks, with barely enough warning for one day of panic—but the fact that she had survived, that the whole town had survived, and all thanks to one woman's desperate paranoia. A bomb shelter for the school was one thing, but one that spread out over the entire town, able to hold thousands of people? Angela Li might have been crazy, but without her years of fiscal malfeasance they all would have been doomed.

She checked her watch again, then bent down to take the cookies out of the oven. On instinct she tried to smell them, but of course the gas mask prevented that. Well, if there really was a leak, that was the least of her problems—she hoped it would turn out to be another false alarm.

A small child wandered into the room, and even with his mask on Helen recognized him as Tad Gupty. "Hello, Mrs. Morgendorffer," he said sweetly. (Helen was becoming distressingly good at deciphering muffled speech.) "May I have a cookie?"

She forced a smile that Tad couldn't see. "If your mother would say it's alright."

Tad winked slyly, took a cookie, and raised his mask enough to quickly stuff it in his mouth. A second later Helen took a cookie and did the same.

The rest of humanity was probably dead, they were alive only thanks to some serendipitous insanity, and who even knew how long this shelter could survive?

But Helen had to focus on the here and now. So she and Tad each had another cookie, and then she sent him off with two more to share with his sister.


	30. Everyone They Ever Slept With

**Prompt/Iron Chef:** A "Scene That Should Not Be" that I've had in my head for a while.

Jackie "Slutty Girl" Wentworth was kneeling on the foot of the bed, caught up in a heavy make-out session with…some guy. She was pretty sure his name began with a "G." Gordon? Gavin? It was something like that.

She began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled his face away from her with a loud slurping sound.

"Hey, um—Jenny?" he said, with a nervous gulp. (_Well, now I don't have to feel guilty about forgetting_ his _name, _Jackie thought.) "Just so you now, I, uh—don't have any protection on me." His face began to redden.

She shrugged, leaning forward to whisper huskily in his ear. "No problem, I'm on the pill."

"Oh." Gordon/Gavin (or maybe it was "Garrett?") gave a lopsided smile. "Cool."

The two went back to kissing as Jackie took care of the last few shirt buttons. His hand began to sneak up the hem of her top…

…when they were suddenly distracted by a loud CRASH! as a random redheaded woman gave a flying jump-kick through the window.

Jackie immediately spun around as her would-be paramour withdrew his hand. She only had time to say "What the hell—" before the woman's fist collided with her face, and the next thing Jackie knew she was pushed up against the wall, the woman's arm pressed painfully against her neck.

"WHO GAVE IT TO YOU?!"

"What?!"

"WHO GAVE IT TO YOU?!"

The woman's fist collided with Jackie's stomach, and she would have fallen to her knees if the woman's arm wasn't keeping her upright. She coughed painfully. "Who gave _what_ to me?!"

"The herpes!" the woman hissed, as Gordon/Gavin/Garrett (Gino?) gave a strangled gasp from the bed. "_I_ got it form my husband Brian, who got it from his ex-girlfriend Shirley, who got it cheating on him with some frat boy at Lawndale State, who got it 'experimenting' with his roommate, who got it from _you._ Now, again—_who did you get it from?!_"

"Whom," the boy on the bed whimpered, pitifully trying to hold his shirt closed as he cowered.

"I—I dunno! Some guy I met at a party. I'm not good with names." Jackie let out a cry as the insane redhead shook her. "Alright, alright! It was—that football player, what's his name—Tommy! Tommy Sheridan or Sherman or something like that!"

She suddenly found herself thrown to the floor. "Alright, then," the redhead spat, and the next thing Jackie knew her attacker had jumped out the broken window and vanished as quickly as she had appeared.

Jackie picked herself off the carpet, groaning. She slowly turned to Gordon/Gavin/Garrett/Gino (_Garrick_, that was it!), who was forcing an awkward smile as her climbed off of her bed.

"You know—I actually sort of have a headache tonight. I think I'll take a rain check tonight. I'll call you," he stammered, before high-tailing it out of there as fast as he could.


End file.
